


a soul born in cold and rain (i know sunlight)

by nicotinie



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Picnics & Peaches, Seasonal Affective Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 02:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinie/pseuds/nicotinie
Summary: “easy there, tiger,” you say. biting your silken lips is my answer. swallowing your smile is my nicest good morning. “lù” you whisper my name against my lips like it’s a song and i repeat yours in my mind like it’s a prayer. “let’s have lunch together,” then raise the picnic basket in front of my face.or: eliott's in lucas eyes during winter and summer.





	a soul born in cold and rain (i know sunlight)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from sunlight a song brought to you by the lesbians god also known as hozier

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _**a soul born in cold and rain (i know sunlight)** _

 

 

  

we enter the metro with your finger brushing against the complexion of my skin. it takes that much for paris to change outside of the underground. i’m not looking at it directly, sitting in an unclean wagon, but i  _know_ it changes shapes, changes colours, changes sounds and i swear it never looked this bright. just one touch and every single thing around me has new strands of lights dancing around your figure, even now at night, when it’s one in the morning and none of us is talking. the seat in front of mine is the one you’ve chosen to take – and for that i am thankful and for that i am in despair ‘cause i know you’ve got me figured out.   

the thing about me, the thing about the way i love you, is that i am cautious in what i do. at this point, i think you know, and that’s why you only smile and don’t sit next to me, you let me have my time to adjust to things even if it’s only us riding this late. 

still, your eyes leave me not even once. a couple of minutes pass in silence and i hate this already and already i wish for a boldness that doesn’t belong to me to show up. it doesn’t. hoping you’ll catch my way of telling you how much my body can’t halt and won’t halt if you’re not next to me, i stir my legs, soles scratching against the laminate floor of the metro, that makes you smile.  

“are you tired?” you ask, softly. the metro is still running. the noise is still there. but tonight paris is magical, therefore i catch your words and let them lullaby me.   

“kinda. yes,”  

there’s ashift in your body and in less than a second you’re standing up and sitting next to me. “they say i serve well as a soft pillow,” then put your arm around me, bringing me closer. i wouldn’t let you do this, usually. i’d look around, i’d try to suffocate the uncomfortable feeling that has me by my throat at times, then wish i could suffocate myself and my voices and doubts instead.  

i never let you do anything i don’t think is appropriate for the world to see. i am just one of the many cowards you’ll meet  – and in the privacy of my mind, i long for you to see me, always, as your favourite one, because in my doubt masked as pudor, in my timidity, love you i do.   

“aren’t you?” i ask. 

“what?” your eyes are closed, your hair rested against the glass window. 

“tired.”  

to that, you don’t answer. you just kiss my hair and rest your chin in my hair knots. there’s a strange melancholy attached to this silence of yours, one that i’ve learned to recognize, one that i must accept.   

when i ask if you’re tired, i mean: (how has your head been treating you, lately?)  

when you stay quiet, your silence tells me: (there is no such thing as my mind treating me gently, rather there is myself falling behind the illusion it is and making you believe that lie, too. but here i am, next to you, trying to keep you from feeling cold, trying to suck away your sadness.) you kiss my hair, and i hope i’m hearing your words right: (and although i myself am tired and my body is stiff from the cold, you make it better, you make it worth it battling with this.)  

i don’t think i’ve known you for a time long enough for me to draw words out of your actions, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking i wish i could tell you, you make it worth it, too. it takes a bit of courage, a fistful of magic, but eventually, i do it.  

as quietly as i can, and hoping you won’t catch me, i take in as much air as i can and angle my face just right. at first, i just let my nose breathe the scent that nestles in the place where your neck meets your jaw. when i move in my seat, stretching myself in your direction, you’re smiling already of a smile so tender it makes me not want to close my eyes. 

my love is guarded and so is the way i search for your lips, sigh against them when i finally found them, melt at your side no matter how strong you’re holding me. my body seeps in between your fingers and reinvents itself as you please, molded by the sound of your breaths and your spit. 

the metro bumps against the rails the same moment my heart starts beating faster against my chest. i wish you could hear it – how hard it beats, how much it changes when you pull just one single chord. because i could never tell you, not with the way my words get tangled every time i try to give myself away, not with fear strangling me every time i feel as deeply as i do when i am next to your side.   

sometimes i think i should give you more, that i should be bolder with the way i touch you, more eloquent with my words. sometimes im afraid you’ll misunderstand my intentions, my apparent detachment, my moods constantly red, my doubts biting at us, that it will always be paris the one to shine the brightest in your eyes and never myself, that only i will know that paris holds no chance against me when i’m next to you. how it upsets me to think you might not see it, me. right after that, just like you’ve heard me: “my love”, you whisper. and all of a sudden i find myself wishing i could understand my heart as easily, as delicately and quietly as you do, because although my love is reserved, you’ve seen me – and you’ve not looked away.  

  

* 

 

you’re everything i want and nothing that i share, and that occurs to me on a warm, summer evening.  _parc_ _monceau_  is your favourite place in the city, apparently, and of that i had no clue. not before this morning, at least, when you showed up at my apartment’s door wearing a new cologne and kindness huddled in the intersection of your lips and your cheek. 

(“the fuck, eliott. it’s not even eight.”  

“it’s almost noon.”  

“midday in summer isn’t equal to midday in winter. noon in summer happens at four in the evening.”  

you laugh at that and even if i’m still half-asleep, i follow the path of your laughter and have it lead me to one of the many genuine smiles i seem to evoke only when i’m around you. taking a step forward, you reach for my face and place a peck on my lips and my senses are awaken all at once and my hands are in your messy hair and my hands around your waist and your shirt gets wrinkles when tight in my fists and it’s still not enough. 

“easy there, tiger,” you say. biting your silken lips is my answer. swallowing your smile is my nicest good morning. “lù” you whisper my name against my lips like it’s a song and i repeat yours in my mind like it’s a prayer. “let’s have lunch together,” then raise the picnic basket in front of my face.)  

i indulge your desire because it becomes mine the moment you let it out for my ears to hear it. i let you bring me in this park you describe me as your own home, listen to you talk.  

as i follow the elegant movements of your hands smoothing the fabric of the picnic rug, i realise one thing: summer is your sweetest lover, the only one i could never be jealous of. you allow it to wash over your winter blues and autumn leaves and i admire the power it gives you. in summer you love twice as hard as you do during the winter.   

you’re considerate, in the way you love. i find a bit of that fondness everywhere you go, in everything you touch. you seek for the most secluded tree, then slice the peaches and feed me of a fruit and a kiss. you know you can do that because no one is looking at us. i scroll through my messages with my knuckles deep in hair amber as honey and your skull resting on my knees.  

when the sun burns the hottest, you’re sitting on the branch of the tree you’ve climbed. you were surprised to see i was able to follow you, although you’re quicker and more agile, because i never told you i used to take part in a climbing walls class. i don’t talk much about my childhood, you don’t pressure me into doing so when i don’t feel like it. 

(“you’re talking with the master of tree climbing,” i say, chewing on a smile, leaning against the tree trunk.  

“ah, is that so?” your breath is laboured, your eyes are sparkling when looking at me. it’s been almost a year and i still haven’t gotten used to this particular look you give me, from time to time.  

“yes, when i was a kid i used to be someone, you know? my name  _echoed_ in climbing walls gyms.” 

you raise both your eyebrows, a cheeky smile appearing on your mouth, then say something cheesy and i found myself torn in between wanting to throw myself off of the tree or in your arms.)

a while ago, i stopped questioning the things you do and told myself to try and understand them. sometimes, like this time, to even follow them, especially when they make you this happy.   

“monet painted this very park,” you tell me after a while. “i know nothing about art, believe me. but his paintings, they just– speak to me, i guess. sounds a bit lame when i say it out loud, i know, but he uses colours and blurs his drawing lines in a way that–” you stop, lifting your chin up. the fronds of the tree are filtering the light and glittery spots of sunrays nuzzle against your face.   

“i don’t know anything about art, either,” i say. in my mind, i continue: but what would i do to paint you right now, to catch the fairness of your lashes, the breeze brushing your hair, the sun gleaming in your sapphire eyes. i’m looking at you and in this precise moment, you’ve become summer.   

sitting on the thickest branch with your legs spread wide open, you look at me and nod, waiting for me to go on. “and?”  

“nothing,” i say. a coward. “come here,” but god am i in love. 

“you’re scared you’re gonna fall?” you ask, and you’re dripping in summer.  

i smile. i’m scared i might die if i don’t kiss you right now.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 10 points at whatever your hogwarts’ house is if you catch the reference to the italy!evak/elu universe i threw in here  
> ++comments are always highly appreciated !!  
> bisous ♡
> 
>  
> 
> twitter: @druckingdom


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